


forgive me father for i have sinned

by orphan_account



Category: Thor (Comics), Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Frottage, M/M, Religious Imagery, angel!thor and sinner!loki, light gore, mentions of minor character death, see ya'll in hell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-28
Updated: 2015-04-28
Packaged: 2018-03-26 06:21:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3840331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"It was never my intention to be forgiven"</i>
</p><p> </p><p>Heed the warnings!</p>
            </blockquote>





	forgive me father for i have sinned

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MissNefer (thorduna)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thorduna/gifts).



_Forgive me father for I have sinned._

Light spills over his face through thin cracks and his voice carries easily through the confinement of the confessional. Does he believe it? Probably not. Does he regret what he did? Definitely not. But the affair is one he must go through, a necessary dullness for what he needs. Redemption is not something he seeks. 

Reading a man is easy, and a priest is no exception. Even one who has seen much about the sins of man cannot mask the shock at what Loki has seen, what he has _done_. The priest's poorly masked fear is just as amusing this time as the last and all others before it, and when he stands to leave, Loki's lips curve into the ghost of a smirk when the man crosses himself. 

It is still early in the afternoon and the church grounds are left almost to himself, steps echoing loudly as he makes his way through the long hall, bright light spilling on him as he finally steps out. Modesty has never been akin to churches and this one is no exception, the gardens screaming wealth wherever he steps, brightest roses and whitest marble adorning every corner of the place. 

There is a woman tending to her son, an old man sweeping the front steps of the church, a small girl chasing a pigeon, and Loki pities them. How must it be to be bound to such trifle things. To be bound to anything at all. And yet, there he is, waiting, and he knows he'll come. He always does. 

A stumble, and the girl is suddenly on the ground, knees scraped and a loud wailing escaping her lips. The woman takes her in her arms, consoling her as best as she can before she takes her away with her brother, the pigeon long gone. The old man finishes his work, taking his broom and his things back inside, and just like that, he is alone. 

And just like that, like a gust of wind, he is not. 

A flicker of light, and a man appears next to him, seated on the farthest edge of the bench with his hands folded on his lap, and he wonders if he should be called a man at all. His hair is gold where the sunlight hits, and his face is soft and kind, but his eyes are the color of a sea storm, angry and deadly and every bit as exciting. 

"You've done it again." His voice is soft but it seems to resonate through Loki's own body, sending shivers down his spine and up as if it was the first time he had heard him speak. 

"Well, you cannot exactly be surprised." He makes it to be clever, cocky, but it's always harder here, with him. 

"You _swore_ -" He is angry, he can tell, and knows he should fear it, a force of nature that's both deathly and unstoppable, but restraint has rarely been in Loki's repertoire. 

And he _wants_ , so much. 

"And you believed me." He intends it to be teasing, a mockery of the man's foolishness, but it falls short when blue eyes turn to him, disappointed and angry and _hurt_. 

"Your actions are beyond forgiveness." His voice is silk to Loki's ears, and he shivers at the sound. 

"It was never my intention to be forgiven." 

God's soldiers are not as gentle as they are painted to be, and soon Thor's patience breaks and Loki finds himself suddenly hauled forward by the arm, bruises quick to blossom under his skin and a pained grunt lost in his lips as they are suddenly somewhere else, somewhere darker and colder, and hard stone hits the back of his head as he is pushed against a wall. 

His eyes struggle to focus, but even in the dimly lit room he can see the other's hair is as gold as ever, his beauty as bright as the sun, and the promise of danger in his eyes has his blood running south, skin rising in goosebumps wherever they touch. 

"It was you who came to me." He knows he is playing his luck, that it is a dangerous game as it is, but he'd be lying if he said he didn't enjoy the thrill, the pain, and the pleasure he gets from it over and over again. A shame the others never managed to last long enough for him to draw it out, for him to truly relish in their screams. "Not once have I said I do not enjoy--" 

" _Enough_." He is cut short by a hand on his throat, the wall digging painfully against his back, and a thick thigh pressed deliciously between his legs. "You will do it no more." It is not a question, and the tightening of his throat forces the smirk out of his lips. "You will redeem yourself for the wrongs you have caused, and the lives you have taken." A pause, and then, "Or I will see you no further." 

The threat is resolute, certain, and _oh_ , that is a gamble he rather not lose. 

His skin feels like burning wherever Thor touches, painful and delicious all at once, and the implications of his words bear heavy on him. "You cannot--" 

"You heard me." His words are stone cold, his grip on him even rougher, and Loki loves it all the more. "I will not stand by and watch you sin. I cannot..." Loki listens to him through the ringing in his ears and oh, there is sentiment in his voice, and he realizes then he has won already. A dark chuckle escapes his lips despite the pressure in his throat and there is a challenge in his eyes as he watches Thor with a pleased grin. 

He hears the groan of disapproval from the other man but says nothing, because really, as much as he enjoys being the one with the advantage, it really is nothing compared to the tightening between his legs, to the delicious pressure in his groin as he rolls his hips, relishing in the absolute brute force that replies in kind to his movement. The touch is rough and familiar, his body molding to the other's and welcoming it like home. 

Thor groans like it pains him, his movements rough and his hold rougher, but Loki couldn't want anything else. In here, at least, he's helpless. He feels his heart beating against his skin, Thor's name slipping from his lips like the only prayer he knows well. In the back of his mind he registers the soft touch of lips against his neck, right there where purple has begun to contrast against his skin, the only gentle touch that he's allowed. He rolls his hips one more time and, just like that, the tension releases from his whole body like a tidal wave, his vision going blank as his head hits the wall. 

And just like that, he's home alone again, dizzy with relief and with bruises, bright on his skin like a brand, the only one thing to confirm it was real. 

And really, if a few unimportant lives is what it takes for it to happen again, despite the threats, he is willing to take that chance.

**Author's Note:**

> sorry mom


End file.
